The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2With sounds of happiness the deer
The southernwood crop in the meads.
What noble guests surround me here,
Distinguished for their worthy deeds!
From them my people learn to fly
Whate’er is mean; to chiefs they give
A model and a pattern high;—
They show the life they ought to live.
Then fill their cups with spirits rare,
Till each the banquet's joy shall share.
3With sounds of happiness the deer
The salsola crop in the fields.
What noble guests surround me here!
Each lute for them its music yields.
Sound, sound the lutes, or great or small,
The joy harmonious to prolong;
And with my spirits rich crown all
The cups to cheer the festive throng.
Let each retire with gladdened heart,
In his own sphere to play his part.